Fair Is Foul
by Mrs.GingerHinkley
Summary: Narcissa assumes the bruises and cuts are battle wounds. Rodolphus knows better than to ask. And Bellatrix won't tell. Not when keeping the wounds' origins a secret gives her a literal form of intimacy with the one she craves the most.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series.

Warnings: Bellamort likes to play rough and it probably isn't requited. But we can always hope.

* * *

"All is fair in love and war."

~:~:~

"Fair is foul, and foul is fair."

* * *

He pushes her head against the wall as his long fingers claw their way through her matted hair. Her toes curl as his fingers curl against the back of her neck. She doesn't scream when her skull collides with what will surely leave a migraine in a few hours. But now that his fingers press against her skin, she cries out.

"My lord," she breathes in labored gasps as her body fights to pull itself closer to his.

He pushes her into the creaking mattress but the feathers do not soften the grip of his hands around her wrists as he pins her arms above her head.

"Bellatrix," he snarls with her earlobe between his teeth. "Did I not make it clear that silence was your only chance at submission?"

Bellatrix does not reply, her speech stunted by his cold breath along her jawline.

He bites down harder until he draws blood and then harder until she screams in that perverse way of hers; her pleasure at the agony he causes her physical being.

His fingers tighten against the blood that pulses through her veins. Her hands grow white, whiter than her usual aristocratic pallor. He knows that if he is patient he can watch her die limb by limb. But while he waits for her death to begin, the limbs he does not control begin to rise up against him, quite literally.

"Please, my lord."

He finds his eyes drawn to hers and her thoughts gleam through the lust that darkens her eyes.

"Bella, do not mistake your place," he hisses. "I am not concerned with what might pleasure us both. You are only here to satisfy those few human desires I have yet to dispel completely from my body."

Bellatrix whimpers but he knows she might as well be moaning.

He strikes her face. He strikes her face and tries to strike out the total devotion that radiates from her face like the sweat that clings to every inch of her body.

Tears well in her eyes as quickly as they did the first night he requested her assistance.

"My lord," Bellatrix begins, and he wonders where he found such an impudent servant. She tilts her chin into the crook of his neck. Her voice becomes a whisper, "It pleasures me only to satisfy you."

He grabs his wand from the nightstand and presses it under her chin still as he straddles her. The reflection of his eyes burns red in hers. His weight presses against her; their chests throbbing in syncopation with the other, he cannot tell where his anger concludes and where her longing begins. His lips twitch once around the Cruciatus Curse, but it would be too easy. She, his deranged and desperate mistress, would consider it an honor to writhe below him. She would not distinguish between pain and pleasure.

No, to truly torture his Bella, he will have to lower himself to her level and manipulate her emotions, raw and blatant as they are.

"But you do not satisfy me, Bella," he says.

He attacks her face with biting kisses and he can taste her tears beneath his tongue. He allows his tongue, his teeth to travel across further aching landscapes of his most faithful. And when he draws blood, this time, he knows her whimpers are genuinely fearful.

He caresses her face when he has finished tattooing her breasts with the indents of his teeth.

She continues to cry, but then Bellatrix often finds it impossible to control her emotional outpourings.

"You're lying," she sobs.

She sobs, true, but she sobs as one who knows past triumphs and will not quickly forget them or let him forget them.

His nails dig into the side of her face, but she retains her hysterical haughtiness.

"You're lying, my lord," she repeats. "I do please you. And if I do not satisfy you, I can. If only you would let me-"

He strikes her face again before throwing her to the floor. He leaves the bed and walks over to the mirror and leans his hands on the chest of drawers as he stares into the mirror.

Bellatrix lies tangled in her own bruising limbs and pride. Her face burns as her tears soak into the fresh wounds her master has torn into her skin. She has born many fleshly indignities for his sake; the Dark Mark and battle wounds she accepts like a warrior. But the scars from his more sordid appointments with her flesh Bellatrix can bear with dignity only if they are endured for the sake of his pleasure. To leave him hungry is to remain his favorite and only plaything. But to leave him hungry without ever first giving him fulfillment leaves Bellatrix blushing with shame.

Bella is not a girl fit to blush with shame.

If he will stand in the way of her satisfying him, then she will combat him like only a female warrior can. She pushes herself up from the floor and walks toward him, his front still away from her. As she approaches, however, he turns, and she hurls herself at him.

His back collides with the chest of drawers and his wand falls from his hand. In his moment of confusion, Bellatrix seizes her chance and seizes him.

There is a sharp intake of breath; this time, however, it does not belong to Bellatrix.

"Release me, Bella," he hisses through pants that rise and fall in rhythm with her fingers.

Bellatrix kneels before him but does not remove her hands, instead brings her lips to his waist. She kisses him, ever so gently and smiles into his skin where she knows he cannot see her happiness.

"I'm about to," she murmurs.

Her kisses wander lower, and as she grows closer her tongue slides from between her lips and flickers like a snake's against his flesh.

His hands grip helplessly at the furniture she has slammed him against.

"_Bella_."

It is a bit like a growl how he says her name, but underneath the growl there is a definite plea. Bellatrix laughs wildly into his skin, her lips trembling with mirth. He is anxious; but Bellatrix is not yet finished playing with her food.

Quite abruptly, it takes all of her willpower, Bellatrix stands and walks away. She begins to collect her clothes and has even begun to pull on her boots before there is a roar. Not any roar, but his roar.

"Impudent woman!" he screams.

Bellatrix bends over to lace up her boot.

When she rises, she shrugs.

"You deemed that I could not satisfy you, my lord. It seems you were correct."

Bellatrix knows she is dancing into the arms of danger, and the thought intoxicates her like madness.

"I would kill any other that dared greet Lord Voldemort with such cheek," he spits.

He steps closer, but Bellatrix merely bends over again to lace up the other boot.

"Yes, it's a good thing I have such nice cheeks," she remarks offhandedly.

She will die, surely he will kill her, but she doesn't care. He rushes at her, but there is no wand in his hand and suddenly his mouth crashes against hers and his thighs fight to separate hers and she wraps her legs around his and pulls herself to him while his hands claw up her back and into her hair and her hands twist behind his head and she screams the title she reserves only for him.

"Master. _Master_."

But he is lost in the sound of her name flying from his lips between forceful kisses.

They collapse, still entangled, onto the bed, his bed.

His bed and she is there and he is spent and for a moment he forgets that even lust is beneath him. For a moment, he worries only for the pureblood queen beneath him.

"Satisfied, my lord?"

She is so smug, and he will have to have to correct that delusion later. But for now, for now-

His hands stroke the length of her legs as he licks the sweat from between her thighs.

Bellatrix closes her eyes as her body continues to shudder in the aftermath of his proximity. In the space between her own sighs she hears a slow, guttural hissing. She recognizes the language as Parsletongue and the voice as her master's. Something swirls inside her chest and she knows it is something that he will never permit, never return. But she cannot help it and she doesn't care. For now she breathes to the sound of his native tongue and returns the murmurs with her own. His mouth moves up her stomach, to her breasts where he begins to tongue over the scars his previous feasting has incurred, to clean the battle wounds of his best lieutenant.

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A/N: This may or may not turn into a series of Bellamort. Who knows? If reviews are love, are favorites lust? ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series.

Note of Coherence: This will follow chapter by chapter; no artistic leaps and bounds in time.

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~:~:~

"Bellatrix lies tangled in her own bruising limbs and pride."

~:~:~

* * *

Her breath settles slowly as his lips graze upon the flesh above her heart. Her eyes close, with bliss of course, but she is also tired and she wonders if her services have earned her an overnight stay with her master.

"My lord?" she murmurs sleepily.

His mouth moves against the slopes of her collarbone and his thumbs kneed her thighs.

Bellatrix can feel him lurking through her mind, but when he answers against her throat she cannot understand him.

"My lord?"

His tongue has crept to her ear and licks away the blood his teeth had previously won. As his lips rove behind her ear, Bellatrix's breath grows heavy in her throat.

"Such pure blood," he says between licks. His mouth vibrates against her ear as he chuckles darkly, "We'll have to be sure not to spill any next time."

Bellatrix dares to open her eyes and turns her head to find his eyes. His lips are covered with her blood, but his lips are so close, and Bellatrix dares. She presses her mouth against his and reclaims her blood from his lips with her tongue.

"Next time?" she asks with a chuckle dark enough to match his own. Her lips find his ear. "Surely not so soon, my lord?"

She slides her leg between his and readjusts her hips so that she is pressed against him. He responds by rolling over, one leg on either side of her, his hips sliding against hers. Bellatrix sighs and sinks deeper into the mattress and farther under him. His hands work diligently up her body from her waist to her breasts to her arms until he is holding her chin between his two hands. He stares into her eyes and does not need Legilimency to know her thoughts; her body tells him enough. As her legs open and her eyes close, he grips her jawline tighter.

He sears her lips with his own and delights in the gasps that escape her when their mouths separate.

"Surely not so soon, my Bella," he whispers cruelly.

He leaves the bed, leaves Bellatrix with unfulfilled yearning; this is his revenge for her earlier impudence.

Bellatrix's eyes flutter open as though in a daze.

"And to your unspoken request, my answer is no," he says icily. "You have a husband who is no doubt waiting for you."

Bellatrix does not dare enough to protest her master's reasoning, though her head is beginning to ache and she does not look forward to answering Rodolphus's questions with carefully constructed lies.

"I will not have _this_ cause derision in the ranks, Bellatrix. You will construct your lies or I shall compromise and find someone else to use for these purposes."

Bellatrix nods and silently pulls on her clothes. When she has finished, she kneels before her master and kisses his feet.

"You need not do that, my lord."

"I thought not."

Bellatrix stands as he hisses softly for she knows it's not for her. Indeed, as she grabs her wand from the nightstand, the crack in the door widens and Nagini slithers into the room. Bellatrix scowls as Nagini flicks her tongue at her.

"You will not be late for your training tomorrow, Bella," he says dismissively.

"No, my lord."

Bellatrix leaves the room, reluctant but obedient.

When she walks through the gates of her craggy castle, no lights greet her from the window of the master bedroom and she thinks perhaps her husband has fallen asleep. It would be easier for her and better for Rodolphus. Bellatrix is a Slytherin; lying comes easily. But she fears that if she continues to lie to her husband, she'll have to face that she is lying to herself. Tonight is not the night for consequential thought, Bellatrix decides as she travels the long staircase to her bedroom.

She pauses before entering and decides instead to enter the adjoining bathroom. Bellatrix is a warrior but a Black foremost and retains a familial vanity and pride that denies her the ease of falling asleep with the shadows of blood on her skin. And to Bellatrix, spoils of love are little different to those of war.

She draws a bath and sinks into the water, reveling in how the scathing liquid burns into her newest scars. The pain is a reminder and the reminder numbs the pain. Bellatrix allows herself to slip underwater. How long she stays under, Bellatrix doesn't know. She is aware only that the breathless sensation reminds her of being in his presence, so she welcomes the ache in her lungs.

Far away, Bellatrix hears someone calling her name. She keeps her eyes shut as her mouth widens in a smile, as she pretends it is his voice.

A hand suddenly disturbs the water, and Bellatrix's eyes flash open and she surfaces with a gasp.

"You must not be human," Rodolphus says with unfortunate affection.

Bellatrix raises an eyebrow and pokes her legs out of the water to rest on the side of the tub.

"How is that?"

"Is even air below you that you don't need its services?"

Bellatrix sloshes a handful of water at her husband.

"I just have a higher sense of endurance," Bellatrix teases.

Rodolphus rolls his eyes and begins to untie his robe, but Bellatrix reaches a dripping hand to his chest.

"Only room for one tonight," she says gently. Her forefinger caresses the skin that exists under the folds of silk. "I'm filthy and too sore for any tricks in the tub."

Rodolphus takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm.

"From visiting your sisters?" he asks with muted cynicism.

Bellatrix laughs idly. "Is that where I said I was going?"

Rodolphus dips the bar of soap into the water then travels it along his wife's leg. He lathers it against her foot then places the soap in Bellatrix's waiting hand.

"Can I help it if adventure finds me?" Bellatrix asks as Rodolphus thumbs dig into the sole of her foot.

"You might not tempt it so much," Rodolphus replies as he dips her foot into the water.

Bellatrix rubs the soap across her chest and hopes the water is murky enough to hide the bruises that are blooming there and elsewhere.

"Rodolphus, if I didn't tempt adventure, how would I have ever caught you?"

Bellatrix's words are as silky as the soap that slips from her fingers into her husband's fingers and then out of his. The soap falls to the bottom of the bathtub.

"I'm sure you had other means of ensnaring me, Bellatrix," Rodolphus says as his hand slides between Bellatrix's calves to reach the soap.

His fingers wrap around the soap but his hand remains underwater as Rodolphus locks eyes with his wife.

"And I'm sure all of those other means were very adventurous."

Bellatrix is keenly aware of Rodolphus's intentions so she draws her knees closer to her chest and presses her wet feet against his chest.

"No means no, Roddy," she teases. She even pouts for him if it will keep him away from the Dark Lord's most recent markings.

Rodolphus wraps his hands around Bellatrix's ankles and yanks her so that she submerges once more. Underwater with Rodolphus clutching her legs and the Dark Lord clutching her heart, Bellatrix floats in a dislocation from reality. Her lungs again ache for air, but breathing merely to stay alive seems insignificant to breathing in ragged breaths with _him_. Bellatrix feels her feet slip from Rodolphus's hold as his hands pull her arms. She splutters as her lungs gulp the air.

"Do not tease me," Rodolphus orders.

Bellatrix notices that when he reclaims her legs his grip is fiercer, more possessive. Yet still he kisses her feet. Bellatrix breathes a sigh of relief, not for her husband's affections but because, for now, lying is not so difficult.

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A/N: Looks like this is going to turn into something; many thanks for the encouraging reviews! I do have a vague plot line in my head since it can't be all Bellamort sexy time, unfortunately. I will give you a clearer idea of the time-frame in relation to other events once that becomes a bit clearer to me. I do know it takes place fairly early in Bellatrix's career as a Death Eater.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series.

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~:~:~

"The pain is a reminder and the reminder numbs the pain."  
~:~:~

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Bellatrix begins to kick because she can sense Rodolphus needs a bit of violence. His hands grapple her flailing legs for a firm hold of her skin. Without boots, Bellatrix's feet are just feet and the skin, though backed by bone, is soft. Rodolphus takes a thuggish kick to his sternum with a breathless laugh. Bellatrix's foot next seeks his jaw and as she aims for higher territory, Rodolphus manages to grab her ankle. When Bellatrix's free foot makes to assail Rodolphus in the ear, he twists her foot.

"Ow, ow, ow," Bellatrix laughs. "Merlin's_ –fuck_, Rodolphus."

Rodolphus does not relinquish his grip, but he rubs Bellatrix's ankles until her swearing subsides. Then he slides his hand up her leg and hooks it beneath the knee that bends as Rodolphus leans across the tub to kiss his wife. Bellatrix sinks lower into the water.

She closes her eyes and gives into her husband's kiss, if only to pretend he is the Dark Lord. The kiss deepens, and Bellatrix must grip the sides of the bathtub to keep from going under. Rodolphus must grip the tops of Bellatrix's hands to keep from falling in. Nevertheless, Bellatrix's ears dip below the surface and water rushes in and with the water her master's voice.

_You will construct your lies or I shall compromise and find someone else._

Bellatrix's fingers lose their ability to grip and soon not even Rodolphus's hands can keep Bellatrix from slipping under. She does so with a splash of surprise and she gasps when she falls underwater and suddenly she is breathing that which she ought not breathe. Rodolphus pulls her up again.

Bellatrix coughs and spits out water and curses Rodolphus and his kisses. But then she remembers her duty and she meets Rodolphus's mouth again. Her fingers find the ties of Rodolphus's robe and she assists the silk in sliding from Rodolphus's shoulders. He shakes the material from his arms and dashes it aside. The robe catches on Bellatrix's foot, and she raises it high enough so that it will not touch the water.

"Rodolphus," Bellatrix warns as he steps into the bathtub. "We have a bedroom for a reason. Besides you're overflowing the tub."

Rodolphus throws a handful of lukewarm water in her face. However, he steps out of the tub.

"No, leave the robe. I'll be finished soon."

Rodolphus says something possibly clever, but Bellatrix can't hear him. Her head is under and she is staring fixedly at her Dark Mark. She runs a fingernail over the skin and allows herself to fantasize more than briefly of summoning her master whilst in a bathtub. When she has surrendered to the consequences of her theoretical plan, Bellatrix moves her finger along the other scratches in her skin, bite marks and lip bruises. Her head still rings.

She wonders if perhaps she can convince Rodolphus to postpone his libido for another time. In the dark Rodolphus couldn't possibly see, but Bellatrix wants the Dark Lord's lust to be her only for the night. And with more respect to practicality, Bellatrix knows the morning will come early, even if the day's training can never come soon enough.

With this thought, Bellatrix pushes herself out of the water and steps out of bathtub and into Rodolphus's robe. She can hear the water dripping in a trail behind her as she leaves the bathroom and enters her bedroom. Rodolphus is waiting but he looks tired. Bellatrix stretches onto her side of the bed but makes no further move to touch her husband. She yawns and hopes that will speak enough for her case.

Rodolphus turns to face her and stares bleary eyed at her eyes glowing in the dark. She is not tired as she thinks she is, as she wants him to think she is. She is just far away and unsure if she wants to come back to her body. Rodolphus presses his hand to the center of the robe and slides his fingers beneath the silk folds.

"I'm tired, Rod. I'm already sore."

His fingers move tenderly beneath her breast.

"You're never too tired."

"Well you are."

"Bella, please," Rodolphus whines, mostly to annoy her.

"You sound like a fourth-year," Bellatrix replies offhandedly.

Suddenly she feels her wet hair clinging to her, and it's cold, and she wonders just when so many people started calling her Bella. It used to be sacred to the sisters. Then Rodolphus, well Bellatrix has to forgive that. But tonight when _he_ said it.

_Surely not so soon, my Bella._

If Meda hears the name from other lips she will surely sulk about change. Bella doubts that Cissy would give any thought to semantics. But still, there is a difference in effect when they say it and when _he_ says it. Bellatrix shivers.

"Bellatrix." Rodolphus's voice brings Bellatrix back to her bedroom. "What is this?"

"Hmm?"

Rodolphus's thumb brushes across a scab.

"I underestimated your brother's reflexes," Bellatrix says without thinking. "He has quite the shield charm, hasn't he?"

Rodolphus gives a noise of agreement as his hands continue to stroke the cut.

"Yes. But I'll have to warn him to be careful whom he chooses to damage in the future."

Bellatrix nods then, realizing Rodolphus can't see her movement in the dark, kisses him briefly. She turns away from Rodolphus and curls her legs closer to her chest. She wants to fall asleep before she has to wake up again. Rodolphus pulls himself against her back. Bellatrix pretends to fall asleep, and Rodolphus does not protest with more than a sigh. But his thumb continues to examine Bellatrix's wound.

Somewhere in Bellatrix's instinct something tells her Rodolphus does not quite believe her, but it is somewhere very deep, so Bellatrix allows Rodolphus to caress her into sleep.

"Tomorrow night, though," Rodolphus whispers, "You owe me."

Bellatrix almost smiles in her sleepiness, though of course her husband cannot see this.

It is guilt. That is the emotion that is throbbing her instinct somewhere far away inside of her. Bellatrix shuts her eyes tighter and tries to shake it off. Bellatrix might possess the convenient and frightening ability to disregard guilt as related to her husband. She cannot, however, ignore guilt when it involves her sisters. The source of the guilt surfaces in an echo of Rodolphus's words.

_From visiting your sisters?_

Sisters, she had meant to visit her sisters tonight. Moreover, she had wanted to visit her sisters. And then her mark had burned.

Sleep clouds Bellatrix's mind, but she knows Narcissa will be furious and Andromeda will be hurt. Should have visited them afterwards, Bellatrix thinks, though of course she knows she couldn't, not when the Dark Lord ordered her to return to her husband.

Bellatrix cranes her neck to the window and she notices the sky lightening. She'll send her sisters an owl in the morning. It will have to do because now Bellatrix needs sleep. They'll understand, surely. Slowly, the light comes slowly, but morning will break sooner than Bellatrix can dream.

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A/N: Here, have a surprisingly quick update. :D


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series.

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~:~:~

"Bellatrix's fingers lose their ability to grip and soon not even Rodolphus's hands can keep Bellatrix from slipping under."

~:~:~

* * *

When the sunlight pries open Bellatrix's eyes, she wonders if she can stop dreaming. Her left forearm tingles and for a moment Bellatrix fears she has overslept. As her mind clears from the fog of sleep, however, Bellatrix realizes that she has merely fallen asleep on the arm. She stretches the limb to coax it out of numbness as she yawns.

A letter flies through the air and hits her squarely on the forehead.

"Rodolphus," Bellatrix grumbles.

Rodolphus, who stands before the mirror fastening a traveling cloak, grins.

"Perfect aim, and serves you right," Rodolphus says. "Your sister's bloody owl woke me up this morning earlier than I liked with its infernal pecking at the window like we were at the height of a crisis."

Bellatrix examines the perfect quillwork and smiles as she opens the letter.

"It's from Narcissa; everything is a crisis," Bellatrix says fondly.

She ignores Rodolphus's commentary on her sisters as she reads the elaborate cursive.

_Dear Bella,_

_We didn't appreciate your failure to turn up last night. By we, I mean Meda and myself, of course. Father found it amusing, and Mother said it was exactly the sort of rudeness at which you excel. Though I would like thoroughly to convince myself that you no doubt encountered last minute social engagements, Andromeda suffers no such delusions and told me I shouldn't either. In any case, I really doubt you occupied your time with something more important than sisters, so I demand you make it up to us._

_Affectionately,_

_Cissy_

Bellatrix finishes the letter in laughter, appreciation for her youngest sister warmer than Bella would ever dare let Cissy know. There is, however, also the rise of the same guilt Bellatrix poorly digested right before sleep.

"I'm leaving now," Rodolphus announces, standing in the doorway.

He stares at Bellatrix with the air of expectance, so Bellatrix makes a show of yawning then smiles.

"Then leave," she says cheekily.

They eye each other for weakness. Bellatrix smirks because she is certain that Rodolphus will break first. Rodolphus scowls because he knows he will break Bellatrix before he gives into her smug temptress act. When Rodolphus's scowl cracks into a grin and Bellatrix's smirk bursts into laughter, they compromise. Bellatrix crawls to the foot of the bed and Rodolphus meets her there.

"Can't the Ministry wait for Monsieur Lestrange?" Bellatrix murmurs when their lips separate.

"I am in very high demand," he replies, stroking her hair.

Bellatrix kisses his ear as her hands wrap around his neck.

"Surely you should take your wife's demands into the highest account?"

Bellatrix falls back to the mattress and pulls Rodolphus with her.

The benefit, Rodolphus thinks, of Bellatrix falling asleep in nothing but his robe is that she wakes up in nothing but his robe.

"I have a little time to kill," Bellatrix says. She smiles at Rodolphus as his eyes hover above hers.

"How long is a little time?" Rodolphus asks as Bellatrix begins to unfasten the clasps on his cloak. Her hands slide down his chest and snuggle into his pockets.

"Long enough."

Rodolphus's fingers wrap around Bellatrix's wrists and pull her hands to his lips. He kisses both of them, then kisses Bellatrix's mouth.

"That's not quite long enough, my pet," he whispers. "I am not a man to be rushed."

Bellatrix rolls her eyes. "And I am not a woman to call a pet."

"No," Rodolphus chuckles as he leaves the bed, "I suppose you're not."

Bellatrix scoots herself to perch at the edge of the bed. Rodolphus kneels so that he is eyelevel with his wife. His hands crawl up her thighs and linger below her waist.

"But tonight, you are mine."

"Only if I don't get you first," Bellatrix teases.

He kisses her knee and without another word leaves. Bellatrix returns to Narcissa's letter.

She summons a quill and a piece of parchment and writes sloppily just to annoy Narcissa.

_You __demand__ I make it up to you? You are suffering from delusions, aren't you, Cissy? However, I promise I will see you today._

_Yours, _

_Bella_

As Bellatrix folds the letter to Narcissa, Andromeda's owl flutters at the window with a letter clutched in its beak. Bellatrix opens the window and takes Andromeda's letter.

_Bella_,

_You __will__ grace us with your presence today as last night was a rather poor showing on your part. _

_Much love,_

_Your Meda_

Bellatrix quickly scrawls a reply.

_Meda,_

_Please don't be mad; it doesn't suit you. Of course, I'll see you this afternoon._

_~Your Bella_

Bellatrix ties the letters to Andromeda's owl and shoos the bird out the window. Then fearing it has grown later than she would like, Bellatrix dashes to the bathroom then hurriedly dresses. She eats breakfast in a rush and regrets doing so as she steps outside to Disapparate.

The rush of Apparating and Disapparating has always given Bellatrix unsteady feet; Apparating into the presence of _him_ practically throws her off balance.

"Surprisingly punctual," he murmurs as Bellatrix bows. "That is enough, Bella."

Bellatrix raises her head and smiles at her master through the blazing light.

"I will come at any time my lord requests," Bellatrix replies smoothly.

He detects her double meaning and chooses to ignore it. The sun burns hot enough without encouraging Bellatrix. He reminds himself of his need to correct her delusional smugness before it gets further out of hand. But then, he muses, perhaps Bellatrix was already too far out of control when he branded her.

And yet, he revels in the thought as he circles Bellatrix, he does control her. He has her loyalty; he can see the worshipful devotion dark in her eyes. With a woman like Bellatrix, loyalty is all he needs to control her.

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A/N: I could very well update later tonight if I don't do the other things I'm actually supposed to do. Thanks for your enthusiasm, guys and gals!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series.

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~:~:~

"The sun burns hot enough without encouraging Bellatrix."

~:~:~

* * *

The scent of perfume, deep and dark, dances with the thick haze of heat as it rises from Bellatrix's long neck. He can smell it, can smell nothing but it, as he pauses behind Bellatrix. His mouth hovers at the rich curtain of her hair and he dares her, silently, to fidget. But Bellatrix is a smart protégée; she knows better than to let her yearnings surface when she has things to learn. His thin mouth curls into a smile as she holds her breath. A good pupil, yes, but he feels the small space between her back and his front buzz with anticipation. The perfume glistens down the pale slope of her neck and into what is revealed by the plunging neckline.

"I do hope you haven't confused this morning's purpose with… other ministrations," he hisses.

Bellatrix's eyes close and open, and she realizes she must take a breath if she hopes to reply. Air rushes huskily from her throat. She inhales with a controlled gasp.

"Of course not, my lord." It is not entirely a lie.

She steps forward, a reluctant step away from him, and pulls her hair off her neck, exposing more skin as she pins the hair to the top of her head. Bellatrix concentrates on willing the blush from her face before turning around. Her hand slides to her hoister and as her fingers close around the cool wood of her wand, Bellatrix's breath regulates. One more breath, and Bellatrix turns and raises her wand just in time to deflect her master's stunner.

She spins away from the second hex that scorches, violently violet, above her shoulder. With a surge of instinct over thought, Bellatrix throws a hex of her own. He deflects it swiftly. So swiftly, it soars into her chest.

Bellatrix's head is the first part of her to hit the ground and she sees the flash of darkness before she registers the pain that crackles through her body.

"You hesitated."

Bellatrix opens her mouth slowly, careful not to wince. She closes her mouth and decides her energy is better spent pushing herself off the ground.

"If you do not hesitate in your attack, you will not have to deflect."

Bellatrix nods, wipes the blood from the scrape on the back of her neck. She pulls back her shoulders and thrusts her chin into the air, meeting his displeasure with the strength of her aristocracy.

"And do not spin, Bella."

Bellatrix rolls her eyes before she recognizes the action's impertinence. She quickly lowers her eyes as his shadow falls across her face.

"Forgive me, my lord," she mutters.

When he does not answer, a twinge of fear creeps down her spine. She swallows and risks a glance at his face. His eyes do not gleam but he is close, too close, and Bellatrix is not foolish enough to confuse his proximity for intimacy. But as he traces his wand along her jawline, Bellatrix struggles to remember that he could kill her with feeling nothing more than a twitch in his wrist.

"You lack control," he says.

The tip of his wand digs into the flesh beneath her cheekbone. Bellatrix feels the blood rush to her face, and her teeth dig into her tongue. She loathes embarrassment.

"Surely there are greater faults."

"I will not have a reckless warrior. You must learn control in all matters, Bella," he says.

Bellatrix knows control. She hears his body slam against the chest of drawers, his unwilling intake of breath. She senses his surprise, feels his delight beneath her fingers. How dare he accuse her of lacking control.

"Particularly dueling," he continues.

Bellatrix knows he is seeing her thoughts; she can feel her head throb with his violent examination. So she extracts herself from the memory of last night slowly, tauntingly. Let him punish her for remembering so long as he remembers that it happened.

His wand scratches down her face. Bellatrix's eyes, never leaving his, reflect no notion of the pain.

"Good," he says quietly. Then, "Ten strides back."

Bellatrix obeys and distances herself from him. She feels the weight of her wand in her hand, traces the intricate carvings in the handle with her forefinger. This time she is ready.

"Your attack will be your defense. No shield charms."

Bellatrix nods, raises her wand, and prepares a mental list of her arsenal. She can feel the sun prickle the back of her neck as she waits for him to begin. He laughs.

"I didn't think it would be necessary to provoke an attack," he mocks. "Not from you, Bella. You are so proficient at stepping out of t-"

Bellatrix fires her first spell, then a second because now she is afraid to hesitate.

He manages easily against her spells, and her own inadequacy infuriates Bellatrix.

"Stupefy," she shouts in the intervals she would otherwise take to devise more creative hexes. Bellatrix counters her urge to deflect her master's onslaught of curses with mindless spell casting. "Stupefy, stupefy, _stupefy_."

Her master's nonverbal approach to spell casting belittles Bellatrix, and she grits her teeth as she ducks and turns through the shower of hexes.

"Confringo," she spits after a jet of black smoke impedes her immediate vision.

_Behind him_, Bellatrix thinks as she spins on the spot. She Disapparates from the disorienting smoke and slashes her wand through the air the second she reappears. But her movement does not afford her the advantage she had hoped. Her master has already turned by the time Bellatrix is ready to attack.

Noting her enraged face, he laughs.

The stream of spells erupting from Bellatrix's wand becomes a torrent of curses. Her eyes burn in the glow of her magic as she attacks. If rage will make his Bella burn, he will incense her.

"Come, come, Bella," he teases cruelly as he deflects her attacks with the shield charm he will not permit her.

Bellatrix gives a cry of anger. She spins away from his curse, _like he told her not to_, and uses her momentum to pierce the air with her wand. Elegance structures her movements. He finds it amusing that her heritage features so prominently even in her fighting. Still, Bellatrix has the edge of one who knows that something in the world is changing. Perhaps this is what allows her to escape the dictates of her fellow Pureblood wives. Through the myriad of spells, however, he has little time for the petty politics of women. It is Bellatrix who interests him as she thrusts her passion into her wand work, body clamoring to defend something that she might have already lost.

Bellatrix's wand swishes suddenly through the air as smoothly as a waving finger. Then, in a snappish motion, her wand extends as a thick cord. He allows the roping to secure itself around his wrist. Bellatrix looks rather pleased with herself.

"Creative," he says. "But-"

His fingers latch around the whip and he yanks the wand and its owner toward him.

"-foolish, perhaps."

But Bellatrix, radiant with the grime with which dueling has adorned her, does not appear to feel foolish. On the contrary, her forefinger taps against the handle of her wand and her lips curl up slightly at either end.

"Release me, Bella," he says.

"You need only ask," she murmurs.

Bellatrix smirks, her eyes beckoning his Legilimency.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the pause; I returned to school. So... expect more pauses, unfortunately. Though, next chapter is just about finished.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series.

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"Bellatrix has the edge of one who knows that something in the world is changing."

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* * *

Bellatrix is strangely pleased when her retracted whip reveals a red circle around her master's pale wrist. It reminds her of her own markings, the ones with which he has rewarded her. She smiles faintly; she is bleary with the heat and the exhaustion of little sleep and fevered dueling and him. Perhaps she doesn't know what she is thinking. But she is vaguely conscious of him prowling through her thoughts as both subject and hunter. The sensation makes her think foolish things, foolish things that he can see.

He has said something, and when she doesn't quite hear, doesn't quite respond, he reiterates the point that will never fully realize itself in her.

At a sharp upward snap of his wand, he sends Bellatrix flying backwards. There is sickness as she twirls through the air; there is confusion when she opens her eyes and finds herself battered on the ground and her master nowhere in sight.

"Master?" Bellatrix asks the hot emptiness that engulfs her.

When there is no reply, Bellatrix stands, wipes the sweat from her forehead, and remembers somehow her sisters. The sting of disappointment lessens as Bellatrix thinks of Cissy, who will delude herself into worshipping Bella no matter how hard Bella tries to dissuade her, and of Meda, who is Meda. Still, before Apparating directly to her sisters, Bellatrix acknowledges her need to wash away the evidence of hard work. Narcissa would be insulted and Andromeda would be suspicious. So Bellatrix returns to her and Rodolphus's home and hurriedly readies herself for what she hopes her sisters will consider _a much better showing on her part_.

Bellatrix arrives with a soft pop and immediately begins to search for her sisters while affecting an air of nonchalance. The egos her sisters might acquire if they only knew Bella's love for them… Really, Bellatrix only has their best interests at heart. She smirks, then sees Meda, and Bella's expression softens into a smile.

Andromeda is lounging in the garden with her arm thrown across her eyes to block the sun, and Bellatrix wonders if she can sneak up on her sister. Bellatrix moves quietly and feels somehow lighter as she hears Andromeda humming. The humming stops, however, as Bellatrix's shadow falls over Andromeda. Andromeda moves her arm from her eyes to identify the intruder, then quickly covers her eyes again.

Bellatrix nudges the toe of her shoe against Andromeda's thin ankle.

"Would you please move; you're blocking the sun."

Bellatrix reaches down and pulls Andromeda's arm away from her face. Andromeda scowls.

"I'm sorry, Meda," Bella says.

Andromeda tries to pull her hand away from her sister, but Bellatrix holds tight.

"You might as well forgive me now as I can't stay all day."

Andromeda squints against the sun to look up at Bellatrix, to frown at her. But Bellatrix won't take no for an answer and pulls Andromeda's arm until the rest of Andromeda follows. When Andromeda makes to walk away, Bellatrix grabs Andromeda from behind, pinning her arms to her sides with the embrace. Andromeda struggles halfheartedly; Bellatrix rests her chin on Andromeda's shoulder.

"I'm sorry; I'm sorry," Bella says earnestly. "I didn't mean to."

"Bella, you say that, but you never do anything you don't mean," Andromeda sighs.

"I didn't mean to offend my sisters."

Andromeda's silence is steely.

"Oh, Andromeda. Why can't you be as easily persuaded to forgive me as Narcissa?"

Bellatrix tightens her embrace.

"Somebody has to see through you," Andromeda replies.

The absolute snootiness of the retort assures Bellatrix that Andromeda has forgiven her. Indeed, Andromeda turns her head to give her sister half a smile. Bellatrix gives Andromeda the other half. Bellatrix's arms release Andromeda, and Andromeda faces Bellatrix. Her smile, however, falters.

"What's wrong with your face, Bella."

Bellatrix gives a laugh. "Excuse me?"

"Are these bruises?" Andromeda asks, tenderly running her finger over the spots.

Bellatrix considers answering Andromeda with the truth. Why shouldn't Andromeda know? Bella never used to keep secrets from her sisters, not from Andromeda. Yet here she stands in the summer heat with sleeves past her wrists, keeping her most cherished secret from Andromeda.

"It's what happens when you don't get enough sleep," Bellatrix lies.

"Bruises?"

"No. Shadows." Bellatrix senses Andromeda doesn't believe her, so Bellatrix quickly announces, "I'm famished. You'll eat lunch with me, won't you?"

Andromeda nods, gathers her shoes, and they Disapparate to Diagon Alley.

After lunch they sit outside at Fortescue's. Bellatrix finishes too quickly and nurses the pain that chills her head; Andromeda pokes at her barely touched sundae. Something about Andromeda unsettles Bellatrix. Bellatrix is vain, but not enough to fool herself into thinking that Meda is still upset with Bella for neglecting to visit last night. She senses Andromeda's mood will get no better, so Bellatrix dares to tread sensitive conversation topic.

"Who is he?" she asks.

Andromeda's eyes leave the couple she has been staring at and slide back to focus on Bellatrix.

"What?"

"You have a man."

Andromeda's face pales ever so noticeably, but Bellatrix accredits the loss of complexion to anger.

"No, I don't, Bella," Andromeda sighs. It pains Bella to hear her sister sound defeated. "As Mother, Father, Narcissa, and you keep reminding me, I do not have a man."

"Don't lie to me, Meda. There something different about you; you're different."

"So are you."

It is curious. Rather than react defensively, Bellatrix finds herself fighting the blush that itches to creep into her cheeks. But Bella knows that when Andromeda says _different_, she does not mean it as a good thing. For what feels like the one hundredth time, Bellatrix wants to tell her sister everything. But something prevents Bella, and she thinks it must be Meda's eyes. Bellatrix settles for a partial disclosure.

"Tell me, Meda. Is it worth it?" Bellatrix pauses, takes a breath. She continues quickly, "To love even if that love will never be returned?"

"Why should you ask me, Bella?"

Anyone but Meda wouldn't notice Bella's vulnerability, so faint as it is.

"Because I don't know the answer myself."

"I suppose," Andromeda looks down at her puddle of a sundae and fiddles with her spoon, "One must make sacrifices for love."

Bellatrix only nods and says nothing more. Andromeda is silent as she sloshes her dessert from one side of the dish to the other.

"Just make sure you haven't confused love with lust," Andromeda says quietly. "That's all."

Bellatrix's hand rises on its own accord to trace the small scab behind her earlobe. From a distance, as she remembers receiving the wound, Bellatrix hears herself reply, "Of course."

"In any case, I don't think you have to worry over Rodolphus. He obviously returns the feelings be they love or mere primal sensations."

Bellatrix gives a half smile and tries to resurface, tries to pull herself away from thoughts of the Dark Lord, because she knows Andromeda is staring, because she's having lunch with her sister for the love of Merlin. But Bellatrix is slowly losing control of her emotions and maybe her loveless master is to blame. Bellatrix doesn't care. In fact, she thinks she enjoys the sensation. Slipping under, slipping under him, under, slipping, him, under him, slipping, slipping under–

"It is Rodolphus, isn't it?" Andromeda asks, and Bella has the feeling it is not the first time Andromeda has asked the question.

"Hmm?"

"Bella," Andromeda says impatiently, snapping her fingers in front of Bellatrix's face.

Bellatrix swats away the hand irritably.

"I heard you, Meda," Bella lies. "Yes, of course. Rodolphus."  
But Andromeda gives Bellatrix such a look that Bella knows neither of them believe this lie. Something churns uncomfortably in Bella's stomach. If even Andromeda, who loathes Rodolphus on some principal unbeknownst to Bellatrix, finds wrong in betraying Rodolphus, what should Bellatrix feel? What does she feel? She isn't certain. For the first time in her life Bellatrix isn't certain about something, but she knows that she enjoys the sensations she's trapped between. Besides, is it really betraying Rodolphus? Is not he also a great supporter of the Dark Lord?

Andromeda has thankfully changed the subject by the time Bellatrix smothers her moral misgivings enough to return to the conversation.

* * *

A/N: You know I can't stay away from sisters. Thank you for all the love, guys and gals!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series.

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"Slipping under, slipping under him, under, slipping, him, under him, slipping, slipping under-"

~:~:~

* * *

Bellatrix watches Andromeda's mouth move and dimly hears the words Andromeda speaks, wants to smile as Andromeda's voice tugs softly at her ears. Bellatrix wonders briefly if this is how her own voice sounds, slightly secretive and definitely earnest. But no, Bella knows that Andromeda's voice, like Andromeda's appearance, must be the remnant softness Fate did not afford to Bella.

It must not be a bad thing, but it strikes Bellatrix as peculiar that she knows Andromeda's voice better than her own. The low humming coolness that can be condescending when it needs to be, soothing when it wants to be; the faint musicality that colors Meda's inflection, how it sounds like she is in constant harmony with some disconnected melody. As Bella listens to Meda and makes sense of her sister's sentences solely upon the inflections, Bella wonders if her voice is the disconnected melody.

"You haven't been listening to me, have you, Bella."

Bellatrix allows the smile to peak out between the fingers that cup her chin and close over her lips.

"Of course I have."

"But you don't know what I've said."

Meda frowns, and Bellatrix aches to change the subject. But Andromeda's eyes tell Bella, there is no escape.

"Of course it's Rodolphus."

Andromeda snorts, and the sound is more than a bit unpleasant.

"Do you only speak in 'of courses' these days?"

Bellatrix rolls her eyes only because she doesn't quite understand what her sister means and she doesn't really want to know.

"Besides," Andromeda says, "You've already told me that. I was asking you if you were coming to the Malfoy's this Friday."

"Are we selling Cissy off already?"

Andromeda gives Bella a look that suggests the joke is a little tasteless.

"Their benefactor's ball for the Ministry."

Bellatrix snorts, "Oh, ho. Invitation by monetary figures only. You know what this means, Meda."

"We'll have to endure Abraxas Malfoy's verbosity with scarcely disguised simpers."

"Well, that too." Bellatrix smile flickers as she sneers. "New money. Mud money."

For a moment Bellatrix entertains possibilities of escaping the prospect of such a stuffy social event that the Malfoy's always host. No Firewhiskey and no tolerance for shenanigans in the coatroom. Bellatrix remembers learning these rules of Malfoy parties the interesting way. She could easily escape attending if she promises Rodolphus better entertainment at home, but now that Druella can't stop her, _not that she ever could_, skipping tedious social events is so simple it is almost boring.

"You're coming though, aren't you?" Andromeda presses.

"Of course."

Bellatrix's smile widens. It won't be all bad if Meda's there, and someone must keep an eye on Cissy. Someone other than that prat Lucius Malfoy. Bellatrix shudders to think of that inevitable day when she must call him her brother-in-law. Anything Andromeda brings home will be better than a Malfoy. Bellatrix prefers stupidity and ugliness both to the unfounded pomposity that Malfoys parade.

A Rosier wouldn't be much better, Bella thinks, but she doesn't mind the idea of Andromeda with Evan. It would please Druella a bit too much, but so long as Andromeda was at least a little pleased. Bellatrix wonders if she dare bring up the subject again. She looks at Andromeda. Their outing has been rocky enough. Bellatrix will wait for Friday when maybe she can lock her sister and cousin in a Malfoy coatroom with nothing but a bottle of Firewhiskey.

"I thought you wanted ice cream," Bella teases as she steals a scoop of Andromeda's melting ice cream.

Andromeda shrugs. "Apparently you did."

Bellatrix returns the shrug and watches Andromeda stir the melted ice cream then slurp a spoonful like soup. Andromeda catches Bellatrix watching her.

"Just because you've escaped Druella's eye doesn't mean we all have," Andromeda says defensively.

Bellatrix scoffs and doesn't find it necessary to give verbal defense. Her figure will defend itself.

Still, she assures Andromeda, "Indulgence isn't a bad thing if there are no negative consequences."

"There's something fundamentally wrong with that theory, Bella," Andromeda says in her infuriatingly cryptic way.

Bellatrix has no time for enigmas, only retaliation.

"Andromeda, you are living proof to the contrary."

Andromeda is caught somewhere between a smirk and a scoff.

She says, "I could just as easily be living proof to its truth."

Bellatrix throws some coins on the table as an end to the conversation. She stands, Andromeda grumbles sarcastically about not being finished. After a brief detour in Scribbulus Everchanging Inks wherein Andromeda purchases more stationary and complains that Bella doesn't write enough and Bella assures Meda that more than two owls a day is pushing it, the sisters leave through the Leaky Cauldron and Disapparate.

When they arrive home, Narcissa is waiting in the doorway and she doesn't look pleased.

"You might have invited me."

"Hello, Cissy," Bellatrix says.

Bella approaches Narcissa who, unlike Andromeda, returns her sister's hug with little hesitation.

"We would have invited you but we were sure we weren't worthy of your presence."

"How very true," Narcissa replies.

Narcissa leaves the doorway to return to the inside of the house but glances over her shoulder to make sure that Bella and Meda are following. They, of course, are.

"I suppose Meda hasn't reminded you about Friday," Narcissa says when they enter the drawing room.

Narcissa sits on the end of the chaise longue, and Bellatrix decides there is room for two and sprawls out with her head on Narcissa's lap. Bella yawns and hopes that Narcissa doesn't take it as a personal slight, though she knows Narcissa will.

"Actually, I did tell her," Andromeda says as she curls up on the cool floor.

"And?"

"I'll be there, Narcissa," Bellatrix sighs, happy at Cissy's concern.

Narcissa's fingers inevitably find their way through the twists and tangles of Bella's hair. There is something strongly reassuring about a little sister's devotion. Narcissa doesn't question the scars on Bella's face, nor does she demand Bella work for forgiveness. The only thing Narcissa finds fault with is Bellatrix's hair, and she untangles that problem with gentle fingers.

"Wear something tasteful, then, Bella," Narcissa says.

Lack of sleep and Narcissa's fingers soothe Bellatrix into a warm afternoon stupor.

"And not something a Lestrange would consider tasteful. Something a Malfoy would consider tasteful."

Bellatrix catches Andromeda's eye and is tempted to make a joke at Cissy's expense. But Bella knows better than to tease Narcissa when her fingers are within swatting distance. Besides, Bella is suddenly too tired to open her mouth. Not too tired, however, to think that if she wants to please Narcissa, she'll have to find an entirely new wardrobe. And that is a sacrifice Bellatrix is uncertain she's willing to make for Narcissa and her Malfoys.

* * *

A/N: I've just about finished the next chapter. Which may or may not but definitely includes quality time the Lestrange way. ;) Review and we'll see what happens.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series.

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"Bellatrix has no time for enigmas, only retaliation."

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The afternoon mellows into timelessness as it blisters slowly against and into the hot hours of itself. No one knows this like Bellatrix who yearns for the cool eternity of the night. Sisters, it seems, have the singular ability to pause, if not stop, time. Time is not the mere passing of something. Time is how long it takes Bella's eyes to droop as Cissy's fingers caress the wild dark locks. Time is the space between Meda's inhales and exhales as she slowly dwindles from happy boredom. Time is the only instrument to measure sisterhood. It is the instrument Bella fears the most.

When Cissy commandeers a conversation like she does now in the lull of Bella and Meda, Cissy could talk about nothing forever, and Bella is sure that she would not grow tired of listening.

Bellatrix opens her eyes to make sure that nothing has changed; as she does so, she sees Andromeda watching her. Meda could say everything in the nothing noise of a glance.

Bella wonders what her own power of time is. Her thoughts blurred with the vanity of comfort, Bellatrix muses that perhaps her power is not of time, but over it. She closes her eyes and sees the image of her sisters below her eyelids. Surely time cannot touch this.

"How long are you staying?" Andromeda asks.

Her voice frays with husky disuse in the afternoon heat. Or maybe it is something more like desperation, but Bellatrix won't give such a trait to her sister's words.

"Till Cissy stops coddling me," Bella replies.

She gives her younger sister a sleepy smile.

"Don't give me so much responsibility," Cissy says instead of taking the compliment.

Time is the stretch of the yawn that parts Bella's lips.

"What responsibility is that?"

Bellatrix inclines her head and considers Narcissa's eyes as they flicker over to Andromeda. Narcissa gives a small laugh, as if it is obvious, as if Bella knows and is only teasing a too sensitive subject.

"The responsibility to make you stay, of course."

Something inescapable creeps through Bellatrix's skin and suddenly she wishes Narcissa would stop fawning and Andromeda stop clamoring. As Bellatrix shudders away a spasm of unfounded restlessness, Narcissa withdraws her hand.

"I'm sorry," Bella says and nothing more.

Apologies cannot rectify Bellatrix's mind, however. A spark has created a blaze that burns its way through Bellatrix. She associates the flame with possession. The fire flares within her, and Bella knows the trapped feeling shackling her is the same as being possessed. At no other period of her life has Bellatrix experienced more freedom, and yet…

Cissy's gentle hand cupping Bella's shoulder turns into the Dark Lord's nails clawing into her back, her skin supple beneath his fingers willing her body to conform to his touch –closeness, craving closeness. Yet, in the light that filters Andromeda's vision, the scars of lust are only bruises. In no light should they be mistaken for marks of love. Bella knows she has given in to something far beyond her ability to control as she doesn't need to shut her eyes to see _his_ hands as they pull her legs apart. But Bella shuts her eyes anyway, if only to keep her sisters from seeing the darkness that whispers her away from the sentimentalities of sisters.

"Madame Lestrange," Rodolphus murmurs as his hands rest on Bellatrix's waist.

Bellatrix awakens from a sleepless dream to find herself in the house of her husband; she wonders when she left her sisters. She pushes them gently away and promises to herself that she will visit them tomorrow.

Bellatrix senses she should grant Rodolphus at least a mirage of possession. She inclines her chin to give Rodolphus the fullest exposure of her neck. Rodolphus kisses her throat softly, hungrily, and his hands slide down to her hips.

"Did you miss me?" Bellatrix asks, though she already knows the answer as Rodolphus's hands bunch the skirt of her dress pulling it farther and farther above her knees.

"Yes."

After swarming through convoluted emotions all day, Bellatrix appreciates the simplicity of his answers. She also appreciates the strength of his hands as they move to her shoulders and kneed away the tension. Bellatrix sighs. This is not possession, Bella tells herself; this is partnership.

"My dear, you're stiff," Rodolphus notes as his hands work expertly.

Bellatrix gives a throaty chuckle. She tilts her head back so her lips graze his earlobe as she remarks, "I'm sure I'm not the only one."

She runs her hands up and down Rodolphus's thighs as his hands slide beneath the neckline of her dress. He pushes the sleeves down her shoulders.

"It's too hot for such a dress," Rodolphus decides as he pulls her arms from the sleeves. He slides the dress down her chest until it bunches above her hips. His hands return to her shoulders, his thumbs dig into her flesh. Bellatrix closes her eyes as he works at the knot in her neck.

"Ow," she says softly. "Not so hard, Rodolphus."

While they share a childish giggle, Bellatrix turns so that she is facing Rodolphus, her hips pressed against his as he clasps her neck. When her mouth nears his, Bellatrix doesn't wait for an invitation. Her tongue slides between his lips and stretches for the far corners of his mouth. Her teeth, white and pointed, close around his tongue and pull the tongue farther from his mouth into hers.

"Are you hungry?" Rodolphus laughs when he manages to pull his tongue from her teeth.

"Hmm," Bellatrix considers, "It depends. What is there to have?"

Rodolphus trails his nose down the strap of her bra until he lodges his lips pleasantly within her cleavage.

"Well, I'm starving," Rodolphus says his words muffled against her skin. "And I think I'll be having you."

Rodolphus rests his chin on her breasts as he pauses to gaze at his wife's smirking face. Rodolphus shimmies Bellatrix's dress around the slope of her hips and lets the fabric fall to her ankles. His mouth detours at the inward curve of her waistline as he kisses his way down her side until he kisses her thighs.

"Rod," Bellatrix says. His mouth pauses with a bit of her panties between his teeth. "It's your night to have fun."

Rodolphus slides his tongue beneath the black lace that circles Bellatrix's hips.

"You are my fun. So let me have you however I want, Bella."

Something about that name coming from his lips when his lips are in such a place as they are now makes Bellatrix squirm uncomfortably.

"Let your wife take care of you," Bellatrix exhales theatrically.

Rodolphus stands slowly and gives Bellatrix a calculating look.

"Well, if I had a doting wife, I would," he says.

Bellatrix presses her lips together, and needs say nothing more for Rodolphus to get the hint.

"Sit," she commands, nodding to the sofa.

Rodolphus complies, protesting only when Bellatrix bends over to unlace her boots.

"Leave them on."

Bellatrix rolls her eyes, but nevertheless struts to the sideboard in nothing more than her underwear and boots. She pours glasses of wine for Rodolphus and herself, hands him his, takes a sip of hers, then lounges across the furniture with her head in Rodolphus's lap.

"As a matter of fact, Monsieur Lestrange, you aren't the only one who's hungry," Bellatrix purrs as Rodolphus brushes the loose strands of hair from her face. "I don't have to be a doting wife to be hungry, do I?"

She snaps her fingers twice. There is the sounds of scurrying and a few creaking doors then one of their dismal house-elves appears.

"Something for your master to eat," Bellatrix says. Her eyes never address the vermin as she grins at her husband. "And, ah, something for his dessert to eat, too."

The house-elf blinks stupidly.

"Something for your mistress to eat as well," Rodolphus clarifies.

Bellatrix makes a noise of displeasure as the house-elf exits.

"Really, what's the point of keeping those things if they can't understand a simple order?"

Rodolphus's arm hooks beneath the knee that is closest to him. His fingers slide up her thigh until they slide beneath her underwear.

"Only dessert? No appetizer?"

Bellatrix fixes him with a pout as he pulls the lacy garment over her knees.

"Mmm." Bellatrix pushes herself up and swings her knee around so that she straddles her husband. "Dinner first."

A silver tray clatters as the house-elf returns with dinner. Bellatrix examines the conflicting hungers in Rodolphus's eyes. Surely he cannot possess her when she possesses him.

* * *

A/N: I am so sorry about the delay! Something in my document manager did not work, so, yes. Next chapter will have Bellamort; I promise!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series.

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~:~:~

"The fire flares within her, and Bella knows the trapped feeling shackling her is the same as being possessed."  
~:~:~

* * *

They have barely finished eating when Rodolphus snakes his arm around Bellatrix to unclasp her bra. Bellatrix watches as the straps slide down the slope of her shoulders, then watches as her husband waits impatiently for her to remove the undergarment entirely. She kisses the corner of his mouth and lets the bra fall to the floor.

"Pig," she says as she wriggles out of her panties.

"Hypocrite," he says as he helps her do so.

The insults pause only as Rodolphus's tongue twists around Bellatrix's, their mouths stretching occasionally into grins. His breath is warm as it seeps from the corners of his lips that don't quite close over hers. His mouth moves against her lips with surprising tenderness. She sighs softly as his fingers brush the side of her face. Her lips leave his mouth briefly to nip at his fingers. Rodolphus traces her lips with his thumb.

"Rodolphus," Bellatrix whispers, surprised by his tenderness. "Are you so suddenly afraid to break me?"

Her husband laughs into the crook of her neck. His laughter tickles her skin; his teeth sink into the vulnerable flesh.

"Don't rush me," he says, sliding his hand between her thighs.

"Then don't tease me," she says in a gasp as his thumb strokes her opening.

They stare at each other. Rodolphus, his fingers moving in varied rhythms, grins. Bellatrix, struggling to repress a series of shudders, scowls.

"Beg."

"Never."

A bark of laughter escapes Rodolphus's mouth.

"You're as stubborn as a Gryffindor," he condescends.

She knows he's enjoying this, watching her pant with delayed pleasure. At the moment Bellatrix thinks of several heated retorts but refuses to speak and risk giving him the satisfaction of her ragged breath.

"Then demand?"

Rodolphus's smile, Bellatrix thinks, is far too innocent. The smirk that lurks behind his question sends Bellatrix into further frenzy. Her neck twists to the side as his fingers thrum against her.

"Rodolphus. You are my husband. I don't have to demand. I am entitled."

Bellatrix's lips stretch into a smile as he shifts his weight on top of her.

"I am similarly entitled, my darling," Rodolphus chuckles.

He kisses her ear, then whispers, "And I would like to know where you've acquired this most remarkable collection of bruises."

Bellatrix feels her chest flutter then twist with something too self-centered to be guilt. She will entertain guilt later. Immediacy beckons self-preservation.

"It's a new look I'm trying. Do you like it?"

Her hands rest on his legs, fingers stretching to feel the soft fabric then travelling up the slope of his muscled thighs. Bellatrix knows, as she feels Rodolphus's throbbing pulse beneath the fabric beneath her fingers, to distract him will be enough.

Rodolphus's hands close around her wrists and he replaces Bellatrix's hands, with gentle firmness, to her own thighs.

"Don't start intellectualizing now," Bellatrix sighs.

"Don't tell me your sisters did this to you," Rodolphus replies, pushing his thumb into the particularly dark blotch that graces Bellatrix's pelvic bone.

Bellatrix makes a small noise of protest. As Rodolphus's finger continues to pressures the bruise, Bellatrix's small pain turns into irritation. She swats at his hand and then wonders if she is more upset that her husband is prying or that he is so eager to sink his fingers into the same flesh where their master previously gorged.

"I've been practicing," Bellatrix says, "Dueling."

It is only partially a lie, and Rodolphus seems to believe the truth of it. His fingers, at least, stop prodding.

"With the Dark Lord?" Rodolphus asks.

Bellatrix clenches her teeth for she knows the jealousy in her husband's voice is twofold. He is concerned not merely for his marital claim to her; he is envious of her training.

"Do you expect me to duel with my sisters?"

Rodolphus considers Bellatrix as she smirks beneath him.

"Well," he says, "It looks like you lost."

"I didn't expect to win."

Rodolphus raises an eyebrow, then chuckles. "If our master is teaching Bellatrix Black humility, I must thank him."

"Humility, I'm afraid, is the only lesson I haven't quite grasped," Bellatrix laughs, her fingers crawling beneath Rodolphus's robe. "It sounds like humiliation and it's too much like modesty."

Rodolphus wraps his arms around Bellatrix's lower back and pulls her against him. When his mouth secures itself on hers, her tongue twisted around his, he moves one hand farther up her back. The other hand returns to her front, pressing fervently until she moans into his mouth.

He removes his garments quickly, the short absence of his fingers allowing Bellatrix to catch her breath in gulps of laughter. As Rodolphus struggles with the final button of his shirt, Bellatrix uses the leverage of their intertwined legs to shift their weights, toppling them to the floor. They laugh into each other's lips, and as Bellatrix rocks her hips against his she is confident she is enough to distract Rodolphus.

Outside, the summer sky begins to set, flashes of heat lightning throwing shadows about the evening. Inside, Bellatrix challenges the heat with a fire of her own. Rodolphus's hands are hot against her flesh. Caught in a marriage that Bellatrix tells everyone and herself is a matter of tantalizing conveniences, wife and husband do not melt together. Madam and Monsieur Lestrange burn, fire eating fire as they tangle their passions. The mark on Bellatrix's left forearm is ravenous as it sears her flesh.

Bellatrix gasps.

Rodolphus, too busy lacing Bellatrix's shoulders with his own markings, does not see Bellatrix's eyes as they darken with something darker than lust. Bellatrix shudders, even as Rodolphus's legs tighten around her in his final bout of pleasure. His fingers dig into her back as if he holds her, as if he could keep her with him when she is already gone.

Bellatrix lets herself fall onto her husband's chest, but her thoughts are for another. Her pulse buzzes as she clenches and unclenches her wrist. She stares at her forearm as it burns.

"Madam Lestrange," Rodolphus murmurs into her ear.

His fingers linger, tracing the side of her waist.

"Rodolphus," Bellatrix mutters absently as she untangles herself from her husband.

She stands and collects her underwear slowly. As she fastens the clasp of her bra she can feel her husband's eyes, hear the question he is about to ask.

_You will construct your lies or I shall compromise and find someone else._

"Bellatrix."

She can hear the growl of frustration Rodolphus is trying to keep from his voice.

"Andromeda," Bellatrix says evenly. "Something she said today."

Bellatrix turns, sees Rodolphus's negative sentiments for his sister-in-law radiate in his eyes.

"What did she say?"

_Just make sure you haven't confused love with lust._

The dark magic that has tattooed Bellatrix's forearm contorts painfully and impatiently.

"She warned me," Bellatrix says, "that I might soon have to make sacrifices for love."

Bellatrix ignores Rodolphus's indignant glare as she slips into the dress he took such care to remove. She grabs her wand, reassured by its weight and realness. Bellatrix catches her reflection in the darkened window pane. She turns away when Andromeda's eyes stare back at her.

"I'm worried about her," Bellatrix tells her husband. It isn't a lie, but the next is. "I need to see her."

At this, Rodolphus stands.

"You've just seen her."

Bellatrix nods and turns from her husband. Her master is waiting, for her.

Rodolphus grabs Bellatrix's wrist, and she wonders if he can feel the heat that burns through her forearm.

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A/N: So... I lied about the Bellamort, but you'll have it next chapter! Thanks for the reviews and alerts.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series.

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"His fingers dig into her back as if he holds her, as if he could keep her with him

when she is already gone."

~:~:~

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The surge of his anger at her lateness morphs into cruel amusement as he notices the absolutely disarrayed state in which she enters. Her hair, though always wild, is a shamble. She has missed a button on her cloak. At the slope of her neck her dress is crooked, revealing the lacy strap of her bra. The lust in her eyes has barely cooled. Her cheeks flush with color as she notices his gaze.

Bellatrix bows immediately, her lips spilling apologies. Her eyes, when she dares to glance at his, promise devotion.

"Master, forgive me."

He can smell her sincerity as strongly as he did her perfume this morning. But he will have his fun; she practically begs for teasing.

"You are late."

"I am sorry."

Her gaze returns to the floor when her eyes meet his displeasure.

"How will your sorrow serve me?" he hisses.

"Inadequately, my lord," Bellatrix whispers. Then, a bit louder she says, "I will remedy my faults, if you will allow me."

Bellatrix kisses his feet. He considers meeting her lips with a swift turn of his heel. He decides against it. She will be even less useful if he renders her an emotional wreck.

"I will require it, Bella," he says. "Stand."

She obeys, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. A strand escapes to grace her cheek with its shadow. He reaches out his hand, curls the hair around his finger, holds the side of her face.

Bellatrix closes her eyes and knows that without his fingers wrapped around her hair she would surely fall to the ground. Her legs, like her breathing, become weak and tremble. He is so close. She can feel the air shift as he takes a breath from her. Bellatrix is losing her senses rapidly and she'll grasp the closest thing to save herself. She grabs the sides of his face, launches her mouth against his. It is brief, so brief she might have imagined that there is a moment when their lips connect before his fingers dig into her jaw and push her away.

Her eyes flash open. She is surprised when his eyes do not burn with anger, but instead hold curiosity enough to let his gaze linger. Bellatrix knows better than to fidget, still she acknowledges his prolonged stare with a quiet cough.

Finally, he says, "You've changed perfumes."

"Have I?" Bellatrix replies.

His nose does not trail the length of her neck as she had hoped.

"Yes; you smell of your husband," he chuckles.

Bellatrix's face tingles with blotches of red embarrassment. She wonders if she should apologize once more. His eyes, however, warn her not to snivel at the slightest glance of his distaste. Bellatrix takes a chance at cheekiness. She pushes the dress from her shoulders and lets it gather at her feet. Her underwear she dismisses with a flick of her wand.

"I can bathe first, if you would like," she says, tossing her hair once more to expose him further to the scent.

Again, he chuckles.

"You are so presumptuous. There are any number of reasons I might have called you," he hisses, his mouth against her jawbone. "An assignment, or more training," he says between nipping her flesh. "I might have summoned you merely to inconvenience you. Yet you assume I had need of your body."

Bellatrix knows he is testing her, waiting to hear her reply. She turns her cheek so that his lips brush against the corner of his mouth. "Not _need_, my lord. Certainly you are above that. Perhaps desire, though."

His nails dig into the small of her back.

"Foolish girl," he growls.

Bellatrix laughs quietly, buoyed with reckless bravery.

"But desire is understandable. My husband would sympathize with you."

The joke is tasteless, but Bellatrix can't quite bring herself to regret it as her master's body exhibits need if not desire.

"Your arrogance is nearly intolerable."

"Only nearly?" Bellatrix asks softly.

He raises his hand to strike her, but pauses when she fails to flinch. His fingers fall to the bruise upon her cheek.

Bellatrix surprises herself when she says, "My sister was even less pleased than my husband. About the bruises," Bellatrix adds quietly, realizing she has never before spoken so intimately of her sister to her master.

"And you? Do you see bruises as signs of weakness?" he asks.

His fingers stroke the slight side of her waist where those same fingers have previously left imprints of their grip.

"No, my lord," Bellatrix replies calmly.

She sees herself in his eyes.

"They are merely indications that I have survived," Bellatrix pauses, allows her lips the upward tilt of a smile, "…a great deal."

He gives her a small chuckle. Her eyes close and her lips part as he cups her face with a cool hand.

"Then bruises do become you, Bella."

The whisper's echo travels through her ear and hotly seeps into every sensation of her being.

_Bella, Bella _–she cannot bring herself to mind it when he says it. A small murmur escapes from her lips. The murmur becomes a moan as he presses his lips against the bruises laced across her breasts.

"I wonder," Bellatrix says with halting breaths, "if you can distinguish between those bruises incurred by the night and those by war."

His teeth graze a wound undoubtedly caused by the morning's training. Bellatrix gasps quietly.

"And I wonder the same of you," he hisses, his tongue flickering against her earlobe.

"Anything from you is an honor," Bellatrix whispers. She is weakened not by the blow of sudden contact as he pushes her against a bedpost. Her weakness comes from the emotion that inspires the words as her lips tremble against his.

He does not entertain her lips with his, but instead trails his mouth down her throat. A small noise of helpless adoration leaves Bellatrix's throat, and the noise vibrates against his teeth. His hands grip Bellatrix's wrists and he pins them above her head. Her eyes flash dark with devotion. Her eyes close however, and her mouth opens as he presses his robed body against her naked flesh. He strokes the outline of his finest mark, that of her left forearm. Bellatrix shivers and her eyes open as he presses his thumb into the mouth of the dark mark.

Her forearm burns, but it is not a heat that can be contained. Instead it courses through Bellatrix's body, and she is maddened by the equally hot proximity of him.

"Master, I am here," Bellatrix says. She cranes her neck to reach his lips. Before kissing him, she murmurs, "And I will always come when you call me."

"That is the second time today I have heard such a promise from you, Bella," he says with the faintest trace of amusement.

If only Bellatrix could understand the implications of her own promises, she might recoil beneath his heated gaze. But she understands only the passion, the pure blood that courses through her yearning body, the purpose that gives credence to her longing. Her purpose, she is beginning to understand, his promises hold.

She replies, "Then I mean it doubly."

Her legs snake around his waist, and she pulls herself against him. He will not give into her so easily. Bellatrix knows this even as she writhes beneath his ferocious mouth. His bite is merciless as his teeth sink into a bruise from the night before. Bellatrix frees her right arm from his grip; her hand falls upon the first clasp of his robe. He pauses in his feasting on the underside of her breast. Their eyes meet, and Bella's burn earnestly.

"Please."

He laughs and cups her lower back with the hand that does not clutch her dark mark. He carries her the short distance to the bed and climbs on top of her.

"Your manners astound me, Bella."

Bellatrix grins as the irony slips from her mouth, "I am hardly an aristocrat, but I am nothing if not aristocracy."

But it is obvious, even to Bellatrix, that he cares little for the cleverness of her tongue as he pushes into her eager flesh. Moreover, there is hardly anything refined about her current pursuit. Of all things, Bellatrix thinks of her mother's scowl if Druella could see her wildest daughter now. Bellatrix, she would surely say, has made a mockery of the proper pureblood wife. Bellatrix laughs at the prospect of her mother's scolding. If Druella could not even provide a son for her husband, how worse is Bellatrix for serving a master who promises to restore the wizarding world to the noblest of blood?

Bellatrix arches her back, bites her lip to prevent a scream of pleasure, rubs her hands against his thighs as he rocks into her.

Her father's disapproval, however, is more difficult to push from her mind even when her body is otherwise occupied. A man of honor, in his way, Cygnus Black would find disloyalty to Rodolphus shameful. Bellatrix opens her eyes to stare at the brand on her forearm, glistening with sweat. The dark mark, Bellatrix knows, is a mark of loyalty same as the ring she brazenly, foolishly neglected to take off.

"Your hubris is astounding, Bella," her master says, moving within her mind as he leaves her body. "Until you prove more skilled than today's session, your loyalty is not as consequential as you think."

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A/N: More Bellamort to come, with the possibility of plot. :P Reviews are appreciated!


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